


Hummingbirds

by togetherboth



Category: Martin and Lewis (2002), Martin and Lewis (RPF)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/togetherboth/pseuds/togetherboth
Summary: HERE BE DRABBLES.
Relationships: Jerry Lewis/Dean Martin
Comments: 42
Kudos: 79





	1. Hummingbird

There’s a hummingbird in this bush. Dean lies on his back, basking in California sun. He watches. Green, blue, grey, all dancing silver light between the honeysuckle blooms. Puts him in mind, as most things do these days, of his other half. Faster than nature, glittering. Heartbeat like wings against Dean’s cheek in this new world where love means knowing what his sweat tastes like. His spine a ladder of kisses. Tummy ripe for biting, hummingbird soft. Dean watches the tiny creature zip and zing. He shifts, pushes sunglasses up the slippery bridge of his nose. Well. Ain’t that something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drabbles posted lately have been so lovely, I wanted to join in.


	2. Lili

This has to be the nicest place they’ve ever stayed. Las Vegas knows its business alright. Working for the Boys might be terrifying in some respects, but the accommodations sure make up for it. Their two beds are made up with pristine white sheets and brocade comforters the colour of champagne. The cream carpet’s so thick you lose your feet.

Dean guesses the bathroom must be nice too, although he hasn’t seen it yet. The kid’s been in there, splashing and singing happily, since they arrived. He thumps the closed door.

“Jer, will you hurry up! I want to brush my teeth.”

“So brush ‘em!”

Fed up, Dean barges in and is nearly knocked over by the scent of roses. There, in the middle of an enormous bathtub mountainous with bubbles sits his partner. He’s wrapped a white towel ladylike around his hair and his sharp little tan shoulders are just peeking out of the warm foam. He beams up at Dean with one of his best showgirl smiles.

“Look at me Paul, I’m Lili St Cyr!”

Dean laughs, impatience gone. He doesn’t say anything in return, just enjoys Jer’s delighted face as he starts slowly rolling up his sleeves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a double drabble, I broke the rule already!
> 
> By the way, if you're at all interested in burlesque I highly recommend looking up Lili St Cyr, famous for her routine in a transparent bathtub. She had a fascinating life and played a lot of the same places as Martin & Lewis (she was even on the same bill as Jerry when he was a solo in the forties, at the Gayety in Montreal).


	3. Forty Million Idiots

Where _is_ Dino? There’s forty million idiots in this club, and they’re all standing between Jerry and his partner. He’s squished into a booth, sandwiched by Ray and some fella he doesn’t even know. His Coke is gone, Dean’s gone, he’s schvitzing, it’s too loud and he is done with tonight. Done done done. Done.

With a steadying hand on Ray’s head he clambers up onto the table, knocking glasses flying.

“Hey, Deanie!” No answer. “DINO!”

On the opposite side of the room, pressed right against the wall, a familiar hand shoots up above the crowd.

“YO!”

There’s a commotion, then his partner emerges unsteadily above their heads, apologising on his way up. He looks anxious, but when he sees Jerry he grins.

“BETTER UP HERE, AIN’T IT DEAN?”

“YEAH, AIN’T IT DEAN.”

“YOU WANNA GET OUT OF HERE?”

“BUDDY, I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER FUCKIN’ ASK!”

People are giggling and nudging each other, craning to see what the zanies’ll do next. _We’re gonna go home, is what,_ Jerry thinks. _We’re gonna take off our pants, order room service and talk shit about Dorothy Kilgallen. You ain’t invited._

“SUPERJEW TO THE RESCUE!” He hollers, and dives headlong into the laughing crowd.


	4. Trinity

There are tiny cross-shaped holes in the metal partition. _Overkill_ , thinks Dean. A crinkled pair of brown eyes wait patiently averted on the other side. Patience is the least of it, next to eternity.

The point: abstinence; virtue; purity. 

Yet everything about his Church is so sensual he has to laugh at the sick joke of it all. Soft gold and heady incense, velvet dark jewel illuminated. He’s dizzy with love.

Time to atone for last night: slow unbuttoning in the moonlight; bruises he left and was left with; the taste of roses.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”


	5. Dunking

Jerry’s panting in chest-deep water, sinuses scoured with chlorine, blinded by glittering blue. He coughs and tries to gasp in a breath. 

Dino will not stop dunking him! It’s not FAIR! 

Where is he now, where’d he go? Jerry whips around to see a shape gliding toward him underwater. Oh no, not again. He tries to flee but he’s grabbed from behind, warm hands clamp his bare waist and WHOOSH! Up out of the pool he flies, hoisted on strong shoulders, crystal droplets sparkling all around them. Dino yells, triumphant. Jerry grips soaked curls, throws back his head and laughs.


	6. Five Times Dick Suspected Something and One Time He Knew For Sure

1) The Riviera, where he dropped his matchbook and saw ankles entwined beneath the table.  
2) The note on the dressing room mirror not meant for him to see.  
3) The rehearsal kisses, Jerry’s fingers hooking his partner’s belt.  
4) The pristine second bed.  
5) The telegram that fell from Dean’s pocket after Minneapolis, ‘I’m getting better and I love you. Burn this.’

+1) The set change that couldn’t wait; the long empty corridor backstage; the two silhouettes behind rippled glass; the way they merged. The quick retreat, the reflection, and the warm space where the shock should have been.


	7. Flutter

It’s getting grayer. Mostly where the curls sweep away from Dean’s temples; there’s noticeable silver threaded in there now. He tells Dean and Dean looks at him as though he’s not sure why he should care.

“I’m 48 Jer, what do you expect?”

He likes that Dean is older than him, always has. When he thinks about it showing a little more he gets that nice flutter low in his stomach. He sticks his finger in a curl.

“I don’t know. It’s distinguished, is all.”

It’s the same flutter he gets when Dean sings real quiet, close to the mic. Or deals cards like they’re magnetised to his fingertips. He got it yesterday when Dean fixed the espresso pot. Jerry'd spent half the morning trying to unscrew it before slamming it on the counter and throwing himself into a kitchen chair in the biggest sulk California’s ever seen. Then Dean came in, whistling. Ruffled Jerry’s hair, twisted the pot apart like it didn’t know what stuck meant and calmly made coffee. Jerry nearly burst into flame.

It’s the same flutter he gets when Dean picks him up and puts him where he wants him.

“Jer?”

“Hmm?”

“Why’ve you gone pink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little double drabble from the [Tales of Studio 4](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610122) 'verse. I don't know why I find them so comforting when they're older, but there we are.


	8. The I.B.K.K.

Frank has a tough exterior but Joey knows that his little baby heart melts like ice-cream when he sees people getting together and looking after each other like they do at Stitch ’n’ Bitch. The club has its very own threadbare Materials Fund, or The Itty Bitty Knitty Kitty as he and absolutely nobody else likes to call it, so kids who can’t afford their own yarn and needles can still join in if they want to. He suspects that tomorrow morning The I.B.K.K. is going to find itself significantly expanded by a very generous mystery donor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little one about Frank from the [Midnight at the Belmont](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872277/chapters/54667648) coffeeshop au secretly being a sweetheart.


	9. Bundled

Dean’s been woken up by Jerry leaping on him too many times, goddamnit. The kid’s skinny but he ain’t nothing, and it fucking hurts! This time when Jerry lands (“OOF!”) Dean spreads his blanketed arms like batwings and wraps him up tight. A flick, a twist and he’s on top, rolling shrieking Jer over and over till he’s bundled in bedding. Dean sits on him.

“There.”

“Owwwwww!” Jer wails. “You got me! You made a little kosher cannoli.” He pouts and looks up at Dean with the big eyes. “What are you gonna do now?”

Dean grins.

“Take a bite.”


	10. Pull

“C’mon, pleeeeease,” he says, turning his face to the mattress. Denied his mouth, Dean kisses his shoulders instead and it’s gorgeous, truly, but he’s desperate. He feels untethered.

He should live in Dean’s arms. Should live in his lap. Giggling close, biting his fingers. All filled up, perfect. Tidal pleasures, waves stronger and stronger until they break: shivering and gasping and aching and _aching_. Coming like a revelation. Just like last night, and all the nights before.

If you situate it in the body then it's commonplace, what he wants. He knows this. All over the neon city tonight people are wanting exactly, _exactly_ this. Pleasure, release. The sticky-hot joy of not thinking for a while, just a little while, please. 

If you situate it in the soul it’s rare as gold. He can’t think about that too hard. Terrifying. To find the only person who can unlock you and say do it, and swallow the key. Open me up. Want me. Show me you lo…

“Do me again, Paul. I gotta feel you, please…” he fades off, adrift. Shifting, white teeth bared and wantingwantingwanting…

“Come here.”

The only hands in all the world caress his hips, grip and _pull_.


	11. The Same Stupid Face

Dean finishes drying his face and glances into the mirror. He catches sight of Jerry lounging in the doorway behind him and narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“What ‘what’? I wasn’t doing nothing.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing!” He’s going a bit pink.

“You’ve done something.”

“I haven’t!” But Dean’s already investigating their stuff, holding each toothbrush up to the light, uncapping his bottle of aftershave and sniffing it, prodding the soap. He looks down at himself: undershirt, pants, bare feet. Seems fine. Finally he peers at his own face in the mirror. Nothing.

“Okay, I give up. What’ve you done?”

“I told you, nothing!” Jer’s really flushed now. “I just… I was just looking. I like your stupid face.”

Dean frowns into the mirror. 

“It’s the same stupid face as always.”

“Yeah,” Jer gives a sheepish shrug and examines the floor, “and I always like it.”

He’s not looking, but Dean smiles at him anyway. Hands in pockets he strolls over. Jer’s eyes widen as he gets closer, and closer still. Close enough to squash their noses together. Dean tilts his head consideringly, blinks, then kisses his mouth exactly once, soft and slow.

“I like your stupid face too.”


	12. Sleeper

To an outsider, Dean’s expression would register as ‘mild concern’. To Jerry, it’s the most anxious he has ever seen his partner.

“Small, huh?” He says, as Dean sets his bag down on the lower bunk and glances around their sleeper compartment. Dean nods and smooths down his already-smooth tie.

“Can I open the window?”

“Sure, bubbe.” 

New York to Chicago in a two-berth Pullman. Poor Dean. Jerry watches him shove the window down and take a deep breath of chill evening air. What to do, what to do? 

“Here,” Jer says, jumping down from the top bunk, “you take this one.”

“Hmm? Why?”

“You can see better out the window. See the Moon. When you see the Moon you’ll feel real small, see? And if you’re real small, well, then there’s plenty room in here.”

Dean looks at him, warm eyes, warm smile.

“We can sing songs to her. You know any songs about the Moon, Dino?”

“Oh, only maybe two, three thousand.” 

A joke! He must be feeling better. Jer glows with satisfaction.

“Jer?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna stay on the platform till we go.”

“Sure, bubbe” he laughs, and Dean’s gone before the last syllable’s left his mouth.


	13. Same Moon

It’s the same moon. Old friend. Same moon that shone bright on teenage mountain schlepping; on wet Broadway sidewalks; on all America roaring as they danced its nocturnal landscapes; on hotel interiors, warm and close; on everything, then nothing; on workandworkandworkand pain; on the aching, pill-rattled years, though he never wanted the light then.

Same midnight moon that watches through his office window as he picks up the receiver and dials the other side of the desert. Same moon that calms his heart as he hears exhaled smoke, and old age and old love say,

“What took you so long?”


	14. Snip

The bright silver scissors Dean keeps in his washbag are so sharp. _Pop showed me how to keep them good_. His fingers trap Jer’s hair, the scissors go _schnip, schnip, schnip_ and another lock tumbles. It feels nice being touched, and Jer likes to think of his unruly hair tamed and trimmed to the careful measurement of Dean’s fingers. He sits breathlessly still, hotel towel caped tight around his shoulders.

On the record player, Sinatra tells them dolefully how he falls in love: too easily, too fast, too terribly hard. Poor Frankie. Jer figures they got something in common there, boy.

Dean blows gently across the back of his neck, scattering gooseflesh like snipped ends. He hands over a mirror then stands back, gnawing his thumbnail. Jer looks. Smiles. Glances up at Dean who avoids his eyes like a man who realises, too late, that he’s shown his hand.

The crop suits him. Really suits him. It reveals his face, turns his eyes luminous. It looks soft. _People are going to want to touch it,_ he thinks. _Dean’s going to want to_ …. He smiles wider and wonders if maybe a little, just a very little, Dean might possibly love him. 


	15. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he went to sleep and forgot it had even happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST AHOY

Motherfucker is a fucking coward, is all. Jerry’s face is burning; he scrubs a hand across his eyes and it comes away soaked. Fuck. He takes a deep breath but there isn’t enough oxygen in the world. 

Gripping the pen like a dagger he grabs a fresh piece of paper, turns it sideways and scrawls COWARD across it. For half a second he considers ramming it in an envelope and sending it off exactly like that, shaky capitals looking even crazier against the genteel headed paper they’ve been gouged into. Fuck it. He screws the whole thing up and tosses it viciously aside. An action with which Dino should be extremely fucking familiar. 

He’d let himself think they’d at least talk, but by the time he got backstage his partner was long gone. Again. Like always.

His head hurts. His back really fucking hurts. The pills rattle. Maybe now isn’t the greatest time to write a letter, he can barely see through the tears anyway. Pitching the pen, he pushes his chair out into the middle of the dressing room where there’s nothing within arms’ reach to destroy. A safety measure. Oh, _fuck_. Ha! He hasn’t felt safe since 1956.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of post '76 Telethon angst, partly inspired by Jerry screaming "Coward!" after Dean when he surprised him on the Eddie Fisher show. In my head this is the start of a reconciliation story, but Lord knows I already have too many wips.


	16. Scar

A single lamp lights their tiny room. Jer’s draped a threadbare scarf over it, gilding the glow. He lies tucked under Dean’s arm, head on his bare shoulder, watching the smoke flow slowly from his mouth. Watching his mouth. They’ve been silent since sundown.

Whisper-soft, a fingertip touch to Dean’s lower lip.

“Scar.”

“Mm-hm.”

“From boxing you got it?”

“Mm-hm.”

“It hurts?”

“No,” he says, comforting.

Jer strokes slowly down the seam, parts Dean’s lips.

“It’s numb, a little?”

“A little.” Warm breath against his hand. 

Jer leans up, tenderly presses his own perfect mouth to the split.

“Better now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble set in the same universe as [Saint Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726834).


	17. Scar - part two

Dean blinks up at Jer. He raises one big hand and strokes back the dark hair falling into his eyes, tucking it gently behind one ear. Soft and newly washed, the damp strands cling to his fingers. Jer smells faintly of clean sweat, but mostly of soap. He smiles. Fastidious boy.

“See any more scars that need healing?” Dean asks.

Cool fingers trace across his forehead.

“These over the eyebrows.”

“Mm-hm.”

Jer shifts his whole body upwards, leaning in again to place soft butterfly kisses along each scar. He’s so earnest. Dean can’t resist him, and winds both arms tight around his slender waist, holding him close. His clever, curious little friend is too sweet, too touchable. He wriggles and flushes too happily when Dean shows him he’s wanted. He just can’t seem to leave him alone.

Dean’s scarred lips press rough, stubbly kisses against the pale, perfect throat stretched out before him and Jer pushes against his shoulders, laughing,

“There’s no scars there! Oh, it tickles! Dino!”

Dean flips them easily, tucking Jer’s body beneath his own.

“What, you got none at all?” He asks.

“One.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Where?”

Jer just grins at him, shrugs.

“Find it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one set in the same universe as [Saint Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726834)!


	18. Somewhere

When he was young, Jer had no place to be. He could be onstage (for an hour, if the crowd laughed, if he got held over). He could haunt the Bryant’s coffee bar or Hanson’s (if he could afford a malted to sit behind).

Everybody’s got to be somewhere. Sometimes he’d waste the whole day just finding a place for his cumbersome self.

Then he met Dino (Dino never bothered that a place didn’t want him, he’d sleep in a hotel foyer like he had deeds to the land in his back pocket). Dino _was_ a place (Dino was home).


	19. We Don't Perform For Them

We spray seltzer in their faces and eat their food and cut their ties and spit their own drinks on them and scream at them and slap them because… and this right here is the secret… because when we were little kids they _hated_ us… and now we hate them… we don’t perform for them I perform for him and he performs for me they’re not even invited they just choose to spend their hard-earned money on tickets to come and gawp.

We’re not who they think we are. We’re Dino and Joey. They don’t know us, not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST PERSON OH GOD! I promise never to do it again :D


	20. So Far Away

His little partner is crying. Dean sits down next to him on the bed and wraps an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close.

“Hey, what’s this now? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jer sniffles. “Just… all at once they felt so far away. My family. My mom and dad. Like I could feel the distance, here,” he touches his heart. “Silly.”

“Not silly,” Dean says. He lets the silence expand between them. Lets Jer breathe.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Jer. Me too.” Dean shifts his hand flat, rubs a warm circle onto Jer’s delicate back.


	21. C.C.H.

Momma says it’s disgusting. She says, what on earth would the Pastor make of it? Those boys. Carrying on like that on _television_ , for heaven’s sake! In front of God and everybody.

Maggie likes those boys, doesn’t understand why Momma says they’re bad. She likes when the funny one falls down. She likes when the singing one picks him up. She thinks that must be why Robbie likes them too, and her big brother is never wrong.

Robbie watches transfixed, face flickering cathode ray blue. Thinks, if Jerry’s allowed to kiss his best friend then maybe… someday… he can too.


	22. Radiant

_This_ , Jer thinks, huddling under his thin blanket, _is the coldest room yet_. He can hear the crunch of traffic through snow outside, meaning: number one, the ground is still thickly covered and, number two, the window don’t fit right. If he could persuade himself to get out of bed he’d go grab his sweater but the thought’s unbearable. He’ll just lie here and quietly turn into an icicle, thanks.

How has Dean managed to fall asleep? The guy must have his own internal heat source. He’s spent so long in the sun he’s soaked up all those bright rays, maybe. Screwing his eyes tight shut, Jer burrows his face into the starchy pillow and wills himself to please, _please_ go to sleep. 

Behind him there’s a hum, a rustle and then a handprint of pure heat presses into the middle of his bowstrung back. 

“Shivering,” Dean says, voice rusty.

Something funny to say, come on, come on. Something about friction, trying to start a campfire? Something about Dean being Apollo? But he can’t. It’s three am and he’s freezing and he can’t.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Cold?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.”

The hand moves, muscular arm slipping under his own, over his ribs and around in an arc, pulling him closer. Dean drags him across the sheets, gathering him close to his chest, and Jer is made of nothing but frost and bird bones and a noisy outsized heart. He settles, tries his best to breathe. The heat of Dean against his back is _astonishing_.

“Better?”

“Mmm.”

Dean moves his hand to cover Jer’s entire face. “Better yet?” 

Jer giggles. “Get off me! Monster.” He pulls Dean’s hand down and holds it tight to his chest, hoping it'll stop his heart soaring through the cracked window and off into the snowflake night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a triple drabble and I'm not sure that's even a thing.


	23. Tangled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little moment from Dino's perspective, happening between chapters 8 and 9 of [_Midnight at the Belmont_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872277/chapters/69576147).

Dino glances up from the nest of wires Sonny gave him. Joey’s back at work; chatting, laughing, flitting here and there. His hand around a cup, his smile in profile. Dino finds himself captivated. 

His eyes trace the curves of Joey’s hairline, soft temple then down around to the delicate point at his nape where the scent of sugared roses gathers. All caught up in this boy whose bare skin must taste like Turkish delight and who reminds Dino of a fine-boned animal shaking with their own thudding heartbeat.

Sonny’s elbow in his ribs. 

“Them wires ain’t gonna untangle themselves”.


End file.
